


During the Last Battle

by ch1ps0h0y



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!, Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-05 09:05:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ch1ps0h0y/pseuds/ch1ps0h0y
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short drabble; crossover of Katekyo Hitman Reborn and The Wheel of Time. Scene taken from the Last Battle and expanded upon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	During the Last Battle

The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rose. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning.  
  
The wind wound around a man and his Warder standing atop a rocky bluff. It picked at the hems of the man's clothing and raised goose bumps on his skin, bringing with it the smell of rot from the north. The pair watched as the Dragon's army marched towards Shayol Gul in preparation for the battle that would decide the fate of the Pattern and the land, and the wind left them alone and danced onwards, threading towards the south carrying its stench of ill omen.  
  
The man had on a cowl which the wind had blown back, but he didn't seek to replace it. His dark hair, hair streaked with indigo, lifted gently with the wind's passing then settled back into place. It hung long and straight past his shoulders, reaching to at least the middle of his back, while his fringe framed an oval face with strong but effeminate features. Wearing a voluminous cloak as he was, it was easy for any to initially mistake him to be a woman.  
  
The man's eyebrows were drawn forward into a frown. The mixed armies of the Dragon Reborn formed orderly ranks in the narrow rocky valley below, preparing for a final stand against the Dark. His Warder, a silent presence beside him until now, shifted and spoke in a low voice.  
  
"There."  
  
He turned to the east, looking towards a low range of hills. A dark massing of Trollocs and Myrdraal seethed against a backdrop of greys and dead brown. A hidden Waygate, open, threatening to end the human resistance before an attempt could be made. The man raised his hand and pointed directly to the centre of the slowly-increasing mass, weaving unseen threads of the One Power that sank into the earth beneath the army's feet.  
  
There was an ominous rumble, not unlike one of the many earthquakes which had shaken the world of late. Then a hole simply opened up beneath the army, dropping every last abomination into an abyss before a single scream, cry, or bleat could be uttered.  
  
A flick of his hand, and the doors to the Waygate ponderously began to shut on the panicked Trollocs in the Ways that had yet to step outside. The Mydraal linked to them tried to whip them forward, but those that fell through only joined their fellows in the impossible hole that yawned in the ground. Eventually the doors slid shut, though not before something small and glittering slipped between the cracks. The hole in the ground closed, and at the man's urging a wild thicket of thorns and brambles burst from the lifeless soil, twisting themselves around thick boulders lifted from the nearby terrain and deposited around the gate until it was completely hidden.  
  
Two glittering shapes soared through the air to the man's hands. A pair of _avendesora_ leaves, used to open or close the Waygate. As the dust settled, the man held them before him, a smile of regret lingering on his lips as he channelled Fire.  
  
The golden leaves bubbled, gave off smoke, and then melted into his palms, their heat unfelt despite the leather gloves he wore. The man shaped the molten gold into two perfectly round spheres that sat neatly in his hands and tossed them both to his Warder, who caught them instinctively and frowned at the lingering heat, but stowed them silently into his bag.  
  
"Let us leave them to their battle now," the man said softly. He slashed at the air beside them, opening a window that looked upon the River Eldar and the city of Ebou Dar. A dangerous city for a channeler. He sensed surprise from his Warder through their bond.  
  
"We shall stir the chickens from their nest and steal their eggs while they panic," he said with a dangerously eager smile, stepping through the gateway expecting his Warder to follow. They did, scowling heavily with disapproval, but they followed. The gateway winked shut behind them and the wind again danced through their cloaks, carrying not the smell of rot this time, but of salt and harbour. And new beginnings.

**Author's Note:**

> I realise that I said the Avendesora leaves on the Waygate were golden - they are not, as I have discovered upon rereading the earlier books. However, I have elected not to change what I have written for the sake of imagery.


End file.
